My friend Uwase had been out of town for three months. Every time we spoke, she said the same thing: "We are in a very remote village, and honestly, I'm not sure when I'll be back in Kigali."
So on Sunday, November 30, two friends and I decided to check on her. We took an almost three-hour drive from Kigali to Nyanza, expecting nothing more than a simple visit to a friend serving her country in a rural area.
We didn't bring bread or smoothies, the kind she enjoys in the city.
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What we didn't know was that this trip would turn us into some of the first Kigali residents to register for Rwanda's long-awaited digital ID, thanks to our friend, who also happened to be an Approving Officer in the rollout.
ALSO READ: Rwanda launches digital ID registration
I have a background in Software Engineering which makes me naturally curious about emerging technologies, research trends, and where the world is headed. When Rwanda announced the digital ID pilot, I was intrigued but also skeptical.
Internet speculation almost got the better of me. You've heard the theories: 666, the end of the world, humanity slipping into a dangerous digital age. I thought about all of it. But I'm practical by nature, and in the end, curiosity won.
We arrived in Nyanza around 1:30 p.m. and hopped on a motor-cycle for a 15-minute ride to Groupe Scolaire Agati in Muyira Sector, where Uwase was stationed. What greeted us there was unexpected.
ALSO READ: Digital ID: Nearly 1.5m enrolled, registration reaches Kigali
The compound was packed--elderly men and women, young adults, babies strapped to their mothers' backs, children running around. At the center of it all was a tireless team of digital ID registration officers, moving steadily through the crowd.
As a journalist, my instinct kicked in immediately. I took pictures. We barely had time to greet our friend. There were too many people to serve, and a national technology to roll out. My friends and I decided to sit back, observe and eventually join the queue ourselves.
The setup was spread across several classrooms. On the right, pre-enrollment officers received applicants and entered their details into the system.
On the left were two photography stations, each equipped with a ring light, a mounted camera, a white backdrop, and devices that looked like virtual reality goggles. In the middle sat the group lead--our friend approving applications and directing people to the next stage. Then it was my turn
I had forgotten my physical ID, but a scanned copy on my phone saved me. That was the first thing they asked for, along with my parents' names.
"You really look like your father," one of the Pre-enrollment officers joked as he pulled up my details.
He asked for my place of residence--sector, district, cell, village. I answered without thinking twice. My father always insisted we know this information; it's practically in my bloodstream.
Moments later, I received a message confirming that my pre-enrollment had been submitted successfully, complete with a request number. After approval, I was sent to the photography queue.
Centering my head for the camera turned out to be harder than I expected. It kept tilting left and right. Eventually, we got it right. What stood out was that the photographer showed me the photo and asked if I was satisfied or wanted a retake. That small gesture mattered.
During my physical ID registration years ago, you never saw your photo until the card arrived--sometimes to your shock. That alone explains why I've always wanted to change the picture on my physical ID, a frustration many people share.
After the photo, I was handed what looked like VR goggles. My friend later explained that the device was AI-powered. I was instructed to wear it, position my face, and stare straight ahead until a red light appeared. For a brief moment, it felt like I was giving my face away.
But I understood what was happening. The system was scanning my iris, facial structure, and biometric identity, ensuring no one could ever impersonate me. Technology, at its best.
Next came fingerprint scanning--four fingers on each hand, then both thumbs. Finally, I was asked to sign. That moment stayed with me.
When I registered for my physical ID, I was 16. I don't remember signing anything. My ID arrived without a signature, just like those of most of my age mates.
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This time was different. My signature was captured and legally registered. It felt like I had just copyrighted and trademarked it.
Before going through the process, I imagined the digital ID would work like logging into an app, with everyone having a personal portal. But standing there--surrounded by people of all ages and backgrounds--I realised how complex that would be.
The system made sense when another message came in: "Your enrollment application has been approved successfully." It included a number--my digital ID.
The entire process was smooth, quick, and precise. It took 10 minutes or less. The team advised me not to lose the number. I'm hopeful I won't--especially after losing my physical ID twice. That, perhaps, is the beauty of technology.
What started as a simple visit to a friend became my first step into Rwanda's digital future. As a tech lover, I couldn't be happier. With digital ID registration now active in Kigali, the future is no longer something to watch from a distance. It's something to take part in.
